Sunflower
Sunflower, her name was Sunflower. She walked through the halls with grace. Her toned muscles working under the surface of her skin like ripples in a pond. She moved like the seven-days-a-week dancer she was. Toiling away in the studio, her home away from home. Tap, ballet, modern, contemporary, jazz, and hip-hop; every style must be mastered. Her passion unmatched, her smile affixed with superglue. She knew she was special. She was a sunflower.
Sunflowers are wild and free, she reminded herself. They basked in the sun and gave to the birds and wildlife that came to pay homage to them. Sunflowers brought smiles and warmth, and she would too.
Performances, recitals, competitions; each move imperative, every step exact. She would not fail; she would not fall; she was a sunflower.
Boys? She had no time. Friends? Only those she competed with for solos and leading rolls. Life? Well, there would be time enough for that, later. Sunflower was perfect, she knew her role.
“Sunflower? No that doesn’t work for me.” The director eyed her on stage, tapping his pencil on the table in front of him.
Sunflower kept her head high, her expression professional, thoughts a whirl. Not a Sunflower?
He gave an assessing look. “Sunflowers are ugly, they’re gangly and wild. You, my dear, you are a Rose.” His eyes traveled slowly up and down her body before he breathed, “I will make you a star.”
Rose was strong, rose was beautiful. But, roses have thorns.
Rebecca Lamprey 